She was not a difficult person to spot within the grey that consumed Winterfell, for her hair was as bright as the wheat of the Westerlands and her clothing choices more colourful than the monotones most Northerners held to. At first glance, the uneducated might have suspected her to be as Southern as the women of King's Landing, with her bountiful laugh and the easy charm which pushed away the cold. Yet, she was as Northern as any who roamed the halls of Lord Stark, more so by the claims of some. Wynona Umber came from a ancient House, once Kings themselves, who held a pride beyond all others. It was perhaps the first thing any Umber was given, that sense of pride. It was difficult for Wynona to identify as inferior to others, regardless of the truth, which resulted in a noticeable confidence that carried her throughout her days. Her head held high through the grey stone corridors, her eyes made contact with men of all stations, and she dressed to call attention to the assets of her youthful body. The woman was far from subtle in many regards, but there was one area that she respected.
Wynona could count the individuals who knew her position in the Lord's eyes on a single hand, with those who might have suspected added on a second. For months it hadn't mattered, with key members absent from the holding. Wynona had been relatively free to do as she pleased without judgement. It, like all things, had come to an end. Though in truth, the whole affair had lasted far longer than she had expected. Initially she was set to stay for a month with her Uncle, but he had returned to Last Hearth only to be replaced by her brother. From there, excuse after excuse filled her ears. Whether it was the potential for a husband, companionship to her brother, or the safety of travel - there was always a reason for her to remain. No, the ease ended with the return of her lover's wife. Lyarra Stark meant that subtly had to be met once again. And so Wynona played cards with the castellan and sewed with Wylla, she made herself visible and known most places she went so that it appeared someone always knew where she was. Visibility meant fewer eyes questioning her, or they once had. Lately, Wynona was less sure.
It was not yet mid day, but Wynona had risen at a fairly early hour. She had skipped breakfast in favour of a cup of tea, her knotted stomach leaving fears of a developing illness. That would be the last thing she desired here, to be left bored and incapacitated with a flu. Winterfell was not exactly the most interesting place in the world, but it was leagues beyond what the Hearth had been. The day was brisk and she found herself wanting nothing more than the warmth of the dull walls, so she had claimed a book to read in front of one of the holding's many roaring fires. She was wrapped in a brilliant fur cloak, purchased for her by Rickard himself, though her mind no longer went to that when she wore it. The pages crinkled loudly when she turned them, filling the silent void with their ambiance. That is until the sound of footsteps consumed even them. Assuming it was one of the ladies, Arianna, Wylla, Catelyn, or one of the servants - she didn't bother to look up. The last thing the little mistress expected was the presence of Lyarra Stark. "It is rather cold to remain standing off to the side, the hearth is far more comfortable." She mused lightly, still unaware of just who her companion was.